So Far Gone
by zomgvicky
Summary: Going back in time isn't as fun as it sounds. No running water, zero electricity, unsanitary drinking water, sharpened projectiles being hurled in your general direction... 21st century or 12th, you're always being shot at by some guy in the hood.
1. People Are Strange

**Chapter One: People Are Strange When You're A Stranger  
**("People Are Strange" – The Doors)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything to do with Robin Hood. If I did, I'd have enough money to buy season one. But I don't, so please don't sue me.

**Author's Note:** _First thing first. I am aware that there are, like, seven other stories in the Robin Hood section with the same plot, and I apologize for being repetitive. I'll try my best not to make this story like all the others out there. I'm sorry if you detect any familiarity, though._

_Okay, enough of my trying to dazzle you with the use of big words. This story will be in the first-person point of view, as I wanted to avoid describing the character and how everyone feels about her. It makes me feel a bit like my character is a Mary Sue when I do that._

_I apologize if any of the characters become OOC, too. If they do, feel free to drop a notice via review and tell me what I did wrong and how it would be better, and I'll try better next time._

_Each chapter will be titled with the lyrics to a song, as I am unimaginative. Don't worry, I'll tell you the name of the song at the beginning of each chapter. Thank you, and enjoy!_

* * *

I had no idea where I was or how I got there. All I knew was that it hurt. 

I was vaguely aware of someone nearby, but as my eyes were squeezed shut in pain, I couldn't tell if it was a he or she, or if they posed a threat.

A slight sniffle prompted me to open my eyes. I quickly wiped at my eyes and tried to stop them from watering as I glanced around for the poor person I had accidentally landed on. It wasn't too hard to locate said guy, as he was sitting roughly about a foot in front of me.

He looked to be in his late twenties. He had five o'clock shadow, and short hair, about six inches or so. Apparently we had bashed faces, as he was clutching his chin and my nose was throbbing. His face was screwed up in pain as well, and I instantly felt compelled to give him a hug. Instead, I launched into apology mode.

"My gah, I'm _so_ sorry!" I exclaimed, quickly crawling closer to him. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you! Ooh, I'm sorry!" As I babbled on with ceaseless apologies and promises to make up for hurting him, he slowly opened his eyes.

"You talk too much." The sudden sound of his voice startled me, and I quickly apologized for talking. His eyes shut again, and for the first time I noticed my surroundings. We were in a sort of wood. I was sitting on a soft carpet of grass, leaves, and dirt, and the only sunlight I could see was small shafts of light created by breaks in the canopy of leaves overhead. It was very pretty, but I had no idea how I ended up there. I distinctly remembered laying on the couch watching Doctor Who on BBC America, and then suddenly I was falling, and that was how I fell onto the man sitting across from me.

"You have an odd accent," he pointed out. I hadn't noticed that he had once again opened his eyes and had removed his hand from his nose. It then struck me that he was British. I loved British accents, although I couldn't understand what they were saying sometimes, and I wondered why on earth he was saying _I_ had the weird accent, as we were clearly in California, where accents like mine dominated the majority of the population's speech.

"…Okay…" I shot him a confused look, wondering the status of his mental health.

"What are you _wearing_?"

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I asked, looking down at the jeans and plain black shirt I was wearing. It wasn't like I was a fashion disaster (although I couldn't care less if I was; I wasn't really into things like teen magazines and the latest clothing line from some French dude I had never even heard of). I looked over at the guy to see if he was one of those fashion-freak metrosexuals, but was surprised by his choice of wardrobe. He wore a pair of black pants and a gray, long-sleeved, hooded shirt. He was also wearing some kind of jacket, dark green in color.

All in all, he looked like someoe you'd spot at a Renaissance Fair. We sat like that for a while, examining each other's clothing with identical confused looks on our faces. I finally broke the silence.

"Why are you dressed like that?" I inquired, tilting my head to the side slightly. "Honestly, you look like you stepped out of the Middle Ages. You could be a knight at King Arthur's table or something." I grinned at him. He stared back.

"King Arthur?" the man asked, confused. It was my turn to stare.

"You've never heard of King Arthur." It wasn't a question. "Excalibur, the sword in the stone? You know, round table of knights, fighting dragons and all that jazz?" He shook his head. It shocked me, but I didn't press further.

"You're an odd girl."

"No, I'm Vicky." I stuck out a hand for him to shake.

"Lester." I grinned and repeated the name.

"Lesterrrrrrr." It was fun to drag out. I repeated it a few more times under my breath, even mimicking the British accent he said it with. "Well, Mister Lester," I said suddenly, standing up. "As I have no idea where I am, can you possibly show me the way to the nearest town?" Lester climbed to his feet, and I noticed that he was a few inches shorter than I was. I found it adorable.

"Yeah, I suppose." He picked up a gray bag off the ground, identical to the one I had at home. "This yours?" I frowned, took the bag, and opened it. Indeed, it was mine; I recognized the red binder and the near mint copy of _The Zombie Survival Guide_ that I carried everywhere. Closing the flap again, I slung it over my head. I had begun to concoct an idea on how I got here: somehow, one of my friends had slipped me some sort of drug (I hadn't yet figured out how they got in the house), and dragged me out to the forest, perhaps dropping off my bag as well. It seemed like the kind of trick that Desiree would pull, as I had once watched an episode of _Man vs. Wild_ with her and commented on how cool I thought it'd be if I had to survive in the wilderness like Bear. It hadn't crossed my mind that she'd actually drug me and drop me off in the forest, though.

"- by the way." Lester was saying. I hadn't even noticed that he had started talking.

"Huh?"

"You're in Sherwood Forest." I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the back of Lester's head.

"Excuse me, what?"

"I said, 'You're in Sherwood Forest.'" He repeated patiently. "You don't catch on very fast, do you?" I ignored the last bit.

"Sherwood Forest, as in home to Robin Hood and his Merry Men? Guy of Gisborne, Sheriff of Nottingham, all that?"

"Don't know about the 'Merry Men' bit, but other than that, you've got it spot on." Lester noticed that I had stopped walking, and began backtracking towards me.

"What year is it?" I demanded. Last time I checked, Sherwood Forest was in the UK, on the other side of the world. Even if Desiree _did_ have the money to afford two round-trip plane tickets, she wouldn't use it to bring me all the way to England. No, she'd go to Italy like she always wanted.

"Eleven ninety-two," Lester answered, giving me a worried look. "Why?"

"… You're full of crap." Something about the way I said it seemed to amuse him and he laughed. "It's not funny! I must be getting punk'd or something. Pretty soon Ashton Kutcher is going to run out in his stupid trucker hat and tackle me."

"I have no idea what a kutcher is, but it is obviously distressing you," Lester noted, still looking at me amusedly.

"Just… take me to the town or wherever we were headed," I said warily, not certain where it was he was taking me exactly. Lester shrugged and started off again, looking back every few minutes to make sure I hadn't stopped short again.

I couldn't be in 1192. It was against the laws of physics, right? I never really paid attention in science class, but I was positive that time travel was against the laws of _something_. "I don't even have a flux capacitor," I commented dryly. Either Lester hadn't heard or he was pretending like he hadn't, as he didn't respond. We walked along in silence, him focusing on getting to our destination and me trying to figure out if I really was in Sherwood Forest or if it was a load of lies.

Wanting to get my mind off the thoughts of time travel and not having anything better to do, I began rummaging through the messenger bag slung over my shoulder, while simultaneously taking care not to trip over anything. After a few minutes of searching (and being stared at by Lester), I pulled out an anklet that a friend had given me. It was a simple thing, crafted out of silver and decorated with polished blue stones. I hardly ever wore it for fear of breaking it, but I liked to look at it.

I should've known what would happen next, but it caught me totally off guard.

Lester whipped his whole body around, dealt a blow to my jaw, snatched the anklet, and took off. I stood dazed for a few moments, trying to register what had happened. As soon as I did, though, I bolted off after him. The two of us together probably sounded like a herd of buffalo, the way we were crashing through the undergrowth. I personally couldn't care less about the amount of noise I was making; I just wanted the anklet back.

"You stupid Brit," I called at Lester's retreating back. "Give it back!" For one so small, he was rather nimble, and he obviously knew this place better than I did; he wove in and out of the trees, dodging bushes and jumping over roots as if he were Tarzan. My Converse kept getting caught under roots, my clothes getting snagged on low branches, and I fell more than once. Needless to say, Lester got away.

"Yeah, that's right!" I shouted to no one in particular; Lester would be too far away to hear me by now. "I'm glad we dumped your tea in the Boston River! If I ever see you again, I will… stab your eyes out with a fork!" It was a dry threat, as I would never dream of doing anything so violent. Frustrated, I let out a loud yell. Here I was, in God knows where, not knowing where to go, and to top it off, a kleptomaniac three inches shorter than me stole an anklet given to me by a friend. I no longer felt the urge to hug Lester.

Something moved up ahead and, without thinking, I darted towards it, sure it was the thieving midget. It only became apparent to me that it wasn't when someone jumped out in front of me, making me bash my nose in for the second time that day. As I, of course, wasn't expecting it, the blow knocked me backwards, and I fell back onto the dirt. A quick wipe of my nose revealed that it was bleeding.

"Oh, mother humper, you have _got_ to be kidding me. Freaking A!" I pinched my nose shut and tipped my head back, once again trying to stop my eyes from watering. I didn't even notice that I was slowly being surrounded by men.

"Well, Much, assaulting girls now?"


	2. Shackled Hopes Of Freedom

**Chapter 2: Shackled Hopes Of Freedom**  
("Tobacco Island" – Flogging Molly)

**Disclaimer:** No, I do not own Robin Hood. It'd be pretty sweet if I did, though. Well, maybe for me. You guys might not enjoy it. Dunno.

**Author's Note:**_Eep! Sorry this chapter took so long; I had half of it written on the laptop, and then my dad decided to __**finally**__ call the computer guy out to take it in for the virus we had on it, and he promised to get it back by Saturday. The Saturday a week ago._

_But anyway, long story short, I had to retype the entire chapter on the other computer. Hurray for second computers, eh?_

_Oh, if you've left a signed review, than chances are I've replied to you personally – if I haven't, I'll do so eventually. If you've left an anonymous review, I've answered at the bottom of the chapter. Thank you, and enjoy!_

* * *

"Surely not!" my attacker was protesting, but I hardly paid attention; I had other, more important things to worry about, such as the fact that I was leaking vital fluids. Despite my injuries, the name Much sounded familiar, as did the voice, and leaned forward a bit to look at the man in front of me.

Like his name, he was also a familiar, but sight-wise; I just couldn't place where I had seen him. If my face hadn't been beaten in, I probably would've recognized him. Like Lester – I recalled the dirty little thief with strong dislike – he was also wearing old fashioned clothes. I'm not talking about clothes from the 50's, either; I'm talking full on _Army Of Darkness_-style costume. I felt slightly out of place, being, so far, the only one dressed in an outfit modeled _after_ the Dark Ages.

"- bashed her face in!" the man opposite Much was saying. Somewhere, a voice in the back of my mind told me to pay attention more often. After politely telling the voice to "S-T-F-U", I turned my less-than-judgmental stare onto this other man.

He, too, I recognized, but I still couldn't tell where from. He had a mustache and a goatee, and his messy hair was in a style reminiscent of a fauxhawk. Two the of them looked so familiar that I wanted to jump up and demand their names, but as there were two of them and I had no idea why they had leaped out at me in the first place, I decided to oblige to my better instinct. The two were thoroughly distracted with their bickering and I slowly began to crawl backwards. My nose had stopped bleeding a few moments before, so I had the use of both of my arms. Even so, it was slow going. I had to move fast, so that I was gone by the time they realized I was trying to make an escape, but I had to make as little noise as possible. Thankfully, they didn't notice.

I had gotten a few feet away from the couple; hopefully these guys weren't fast runners. I planned on keeping my eyes on them until I turned to run, and I jumped to my feet. They didn't seem to notice. Satisfied, I turned and came face-to-chest with a large bear of a man armed with a big stick. I don't mean that in a mocking way, either; roughly, it shared the same width of a baseball. Grinning, the giant grabbed the back of my shirt and lifted me a few inches into the air. I had to stand on the balls of my feet to avoid being painfully suspended by the seams of the sleeves cutting into my underarms. My horror was apparently scrawled across my face, for the behemoth chuckled.

"Oi, John, what are you doing?" Blast, my attempt at escape was ruined. The two men both walked within the boundaries of my sight, their argument seemingly forgotten.

"She was attempting escape." John replied, shaking me slightly.

"E-escaping?" I stammered, looking hastily between Much, John, and the other man. "I can't escape! I'm just a kid. Against three grown men? Nah, I was crawling over for you to, uh, capture me even more." I was aware that nothing I said made sense, but it wasn't like I was used to these sorts of situations. Trust me; being hoisted off the ground _is_ as intimidating as it looks, but is _very_ uncomfortable for the hoisted. "Now," I began, flashing what I hoped to be a convincing smile, "If you would please put me down…"

"Not without a donation," John grunted.

"Donation?" I asked, surprised. "Donate to what? PETA? Goodwill?"

"No, to the poor of Nottinghamshire!" Much corrected in a voice implying that I should know that already.

"Nottingham- Much!" I exclaimed suddenly, pointed to him. It probably looked awkward, as I was still being held up. "Oh, dude, this is awesome! Allan A Dale and Little John, right? Ah, dur, of course." I grinned at them like a maniac. The three of them glanced to each other uncertainly.

"You know our names?" Allan inquired. I guess they just expected to be talked about as 'Robin Hood's men'.

"Well, yeah! I remember once –"

"Outlaws, my lord!" Apparently, there was someone generally disliked behind me, because the trio's gazes shifted to look at something behind my shoulder and varying expressions of loathing and/or fear made themselves at home on the men's faces: Little John scowled, Much paled, and Allan's eyes widened. I was instantly discarded in their haste to get away.

"Arrest them!" a loud, commanding voice snapped. I wasn't even able to turn around; I was instantly pounced upon by who knows how many people, probably three. Now, I wasn't a big fan of physical contact to begin with, and, being pushing to the ground by three men in heavy metal armor wasn't a pleasant experience. I wanted it to stop _now_, so I did the only thing I could: I struggled.

"Sir, may I?" someone in the immediate vicinity of my ear shouted. His commanding officer must've given him the okay, because I heard a thunk and I was out.

----------

"Sir, she's waking up."

I grunted in response and buried my face deeper into the packed earth, an unsuccessful attempt at hushing the voices. Someone nudged me in the ribs with their foot, earning them another grunt and a feeble swipe. It seemed that I had annoyed whoever it was that was watching me, because I was roughly lifted into a sitting position. The sudden light hurt my eyes and I curled into a ball to try and regain the use of my eyes.

"Prisoner," a voice somewhere above me snapped, and it took me a moment to realize that I was being addressed. Reluctantly looking up, I tried to focus on the black mass standing in front of me. As my eyes still hadn't adjusted, I couldn't exactly make him out, but he looked familiar…

"Van Helsing?" I questioned, squinting. He didn't respond. "What are you doing in my dream? This is Rob-" – my eyes chose that moment to adjust – "oh. Sorry, you looked like someone else."

"I'd gathered that," was his reply. And then, "Where are you from?"

"… what?" I hadn't expected that question from Guy of Gisborne.

"You're obviously not from England," Guy sighed patiently. "You have a strange accent. _Where_ are you _from_?"

"Oh! Sorry, being knocked out by a_ blow to the head_ must've muddled my thoughts," I snapped sarcastically. Before he had time to answer, I added, "I'm from America."

"America?" Guy mused. "I've never heard of it."

"Oh yes, most people haven't." I said, nonchalant. I had to make it seem like I knew what I was doing, which I didn't. I had no idea how he'd respond to a person from a country he'd never heard about showing up out of nowhere, but so far he seemed to be taking it alright. "We Americans pride ourselves on our ability to not be found."

"And yet here you are, in Nottingham's prison." Touché.

"Ah, about that. See, there was this cat, he punched me-"

"A _cat_ punched you?"

"No! Hah, no, when I say 'cat', I mean 'person'. Some of my people speak like that."

"Oh, alright then. Continue."

"Thank you. Anyway, the dude punched me and took this anklet a friend gave me, so I was running after him, right? And then the outlaw dudes jumped out of the forest and were like, 'You have to make a donation!' and I was all, 'Betch, please. G-T-F-O.' and then they were like, 'Oh no you didn't!' and I was all, 'You best believe it'! and-"

"Enough!" Guy snapped, holding up a hand. I shut up. He took a deep breath and I wondered if he was trying not to hit me; it wouldn't be very manly, hitting a little girl, you know. "You were attacked by the outlaws?" he asked finally.

"Kinda-sorta. Not really, because even though I got a blow to the nose, it was my fault." I answered, reaching up to feel my nose. It didn't feel broken, thankfully.

"They struck you?" Guy asked. I could almost hear some sort of evil plan formulating in his mind.

"No!" I said hastily. "It was my fault! I ran into one of them!" I smacked my palms together, trying to imply some sort of collision. "I was running after the guy who punched me. I wanted my anklet back." Guy was silent for a while, probably thinking it over. I sat awkwardly, wondering what I would do if I was locked in the cell for the night. Well, I was soon to find out, because Guy rose and swept out of the cell, closing the door behind him so I couldn't follow.

I stared at the door in stunned silence for a while before I decided he wasn't coming back. Some dream, eh? I had had dreams about neo-Nazis, and they were better than this! Scoffing to myself, I decided that it would be rather fun to sing; I liked singing, even though I was probably tone-deaf.

"_It's close to midnight_," I sang softly to the guard stationed outside my cell, "_And something evil's lurking in the dark…_" The guard scoffed and turned away as though he weren't interested, but he kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I grinned and continued.

"_Under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart_," I hummed, leaning against the bars. "_You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it_." The guard and turned towards me now, all attempts at looking uninterested abandoned. "_You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes. You're paralyzed._" Another guard had come from across the room to listen better. Their prisoners probably didn't entertain them much.

"'_Cause this is THRILLER_!" The guards jumped slightly at my sudden outburst. "_Thriller night! And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike!_" The jailer had even come to watch. He looked at me quizzically. "_You know it's THRILLER! Thriller ni_-"

"Stop your racket!" the jailer snapped, snatching a spear from one of the guards and jabbing at me with it. I jumped back to avoid being skewered.

"Sorry, gosh." I retreated to the back of the cell. "Just trying to entertain myself…"

"Yes, well, the rest of us do _not_ want to hear the cries of a cat being tortured." With that, he turned and left. I gaped at his retreating back.

"I thought you had a nice singing voice." The guard whispered. I patted his shoulder through the bars.

"Thank you."

* * *

Sh – Thank you!

EP – Well, here's some more for you! Woot!

Charlotte Rowena – Oh my gah, you're my new best friend. xD Here's more, here's more! Don't hurt me please! Oh, and I really do carry the _Survival Guide_ around with me.

_Thanks to all you guys for reading! I have some ideas for future chapters, but I'd love some suggestions, if you have any. To those of you who have MSN and would like to talk, leave your address in a review and I'll be sure to add you!_


	3. She Spoke Just Like a Baroness

**Chapter 3: She Spoke Just Like a Baroness  
**("Killer Queen" – Queen)

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Robin Hood. I wish I was smart enough to create something awesome like that.

**Author's Note:** _BAH, I got my laptop back and I read the original first half I had written for chapter two. I like it better than the one I scrapped together. Oh well, maybe I can take some things from that and incorporate them into later chapters._

_Oh, this is the first chapter that I've put the most effort into, and I still don't like it. I've rewritten it a few times, but it just doesn't seem to click. Aw. Hopefully you guys will like it. Enjoy!_

_I know Vicky's excuse for demanding to be let out is totally Mary-Sue, and I apologize for that. I just… needed a way for them to get out of the dungeon. I feel bad for putting it in. xD_

* * *

It was in Nottingham's prison that I decided I didn't like the slammer. I mean, they make it look fun in _The Longest Yard_, though I doubted they'd allow prisoners to play football. Still, they got to have free time, and all I got to do was sit quietly. The only other prisoner in the dungeon was an unconscious heap of clothes in the cell next to mine; normally I would've tried to wake him, but past unpleasant experiences with Nottinghamshire's residents made me think twice. 

I eventually took up conversing with the guard stationed outside my cell, the one who had complemented my singing. His name was Finlay, I learned, and he was seventeen. He was different than the generic guard extras in the show: for one thing, he was young – the other extras were around thirty at least. He didn't approve of all the torture that went on in the lower levels of the castle, and absolutely refused to assist Guy in his 'interrogations'. The only reason he willingly worked for the Sheriff was for the pay; he had a younger brother – around my age, he told me – which he had to support, otherwise he would run off and join Robin in Sherwood.

All this was said in whispers, for the guard across the room looked like the kiss-up sort; he would probably rat Finlay out just to gain status on the Sheriff's good side.

In return for Finlay's not-so-full-length life story, I told him snippets of my own. I informed him on how I was indeed from another country, and how I really had a run-in with Robin's men – I left names out for security reasons. He seemed most interested in the bit with the outlaws. He hadn't been on guard duty long enough to actually come face-to-face with Robin – I told him that he should hope he was never on duty long enough to meet the outlaws – but he said he'd like to meet one of his men, even if it was just a fleeting glance.

"How do you know I'm not a spy for the Sheriff," I commented a few minutes after we had finished talking, "and that I won't tell him everything you've told me?" Finlay placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and glowered.

"Because I'd have to kill you." he snapped as I scrambled away from the bars separating us. Normally I'd find it funny, but he looked dead serious and I didn't want to take any chances.

"I was kidding!" I whimpered, eyeing the leather scabbard that housed the pointy metal object. "I'm totally against all the torture and stuff, and I support your views of a certain outlaw! Right on, brother!" I held up a fist in the usual 'Right on' position for emphasis. Finlay seemed satisfied, and his scowl disappeared. I remained cowering against the rear wall just in case.

We were interrupted from our pleasant exchange by a loud groan coming from aforementioned heap of clothes. I glanced to Finlay, silently asking if he knew who the prisoner was. He shook his head.

"Excuse me?" I whispered loudly, remaining where I was sitting. I didn't get a response. "Sir?" I tried again. The man groggily sat up.

"Wot?" Ah, that was Allan's voice. The faux-hawked outlaw squinted at me, and I smiled sheepishly in response. I wasn't sure if Guy knew that Allan worked with Robin Hood or not, but I knew that if he did, there was going to be a massive amount of pain in his immediate future. I was my fault he was here, and I didn't want him to get hurt on my account. I felt oddly responsible for getting him out.

"Allan," I whispered, scooting closer to the bars dividing our cells, "Remember me? I-I think I know a plan on getting us out of here. Don't say anything, please, or else you'll ruin it." I flashed a less-than-reassuring smile and turned to Finlay, who had been attempting to listen in on our hushed conversation.

"You!" I barked, completely out of character. I stood and marched over to him. "I demand to be let out!" Finlay, taken aback, took a few moments to form a coherent answer.

"I – you – what?"

"You heard me! I've had enough of the dungeon! It isn't a proper place for one of my social status!" I quickly winked at him before the guard on the other side of the room bustled over to us.

"What's this?" he asked.

"My manservant," I motioned to Allan, "and I were traveling along fine before your Sheriff's men assaulted us in the forest! The dungeon is no place for an heir to the throne!" Finlay was trying to fight some expression off his face; I couldn't tell if it was humor or not. The other guard, however, looked skeptical.

"Throne? What throne? You said yourself, you're not from England," he growled. I straightened my posture in an attempt to look taller and more important.

"Exactly. The throne of America. I highly suggest you let us out before my watchmen discover who have taken me and decide to open up a can of whip arse on ya'll." I crossed my arms and held my nose in the air. They stared at me for a few moments, their expressions unreadable. "_Well_?" I snapped, causing the guard to start and hurry off out the door. Finlay stayed behind to fulfill his guarding duties.

"Are you really royalty?" he asked after the pattering of the other man's footsteps had died down. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Yes," I sniffed. I held up the pompous charade for a few more moments before dropping it and grinning. "Oh, two seconds, I need to check on my manservant." With that, I turned and trotted over to Allan, who was looking at me oddly.

"Someone's feeling better," I commented.

"'Manservant'?" he questioned, obviously not impressed with the title I had given him. I scowled.

"It was either that or my husband." He opened his mouth to retort, but I shushed him. "Don't talk; your accent will give you away. If you don't talk like me, they'll know you're from here." He probably didn't like being bossed around by a kid, but my plan was our only means of escape. Until Robin showed up, that is. "Please." Allan was silent for a moment.

"S'worth a shot," he said. I would've hugged him if we weren't in separate cells. Instead, I did an odd sort of dance and punched the air.

"I know, I know, 'eccentric little girl' and all that." I sighed, seeing the amused look on Allan's face.

"Your _highness_," someone sneered. I turned and saw the jailer unlocking the door to my cell. Not wanting to be found out, I hastily straightened up again, trying to gain an air of importance. The jailer held the door open and mock bowed as I sauntered out.

"My manservant, too!" I insisted, waving him towards the door to Allan's cell. He obliged with a scowl. "Thank you," I added once Allan had appeared at my side. Now, I wasn't one to agree with the whole slave thing, so I felt that my 'manservant' should at least be treated as a human being and not an animal. Flashing Allan a friendly smile, I held out my arm to him. He looped his through it, somewhat hesitantly, and I turned to the jailer, who seemed appalled at the show of familiarity between mistress and servant.

"If you would please lead us out?" I prodded. He nodded and started off out of the dungeon. "Thank you for your kindness, Sir Finlay," I waved back to the young guard, grinning. He offered a small smile in response. I felt like be deserved to know, so, as we were walking out, I looked back to him, pointed to Allan, and mouthed 'Robin Hood's man'. I reckon I'd be laughing at the memory of his face for the next few days.

"Your evil plan is working," Allan whispered in my ear as we were lead out of the lower levels of the castle. I detached myself from him, rubbed my ear, and relooped my arm back through his.

"Don't do that," I protested. "It tickles." The jailer threw a glance back at us over his shoulder.

The three of us walked on in silence for a while, and I was pretty sure that we had passed the courtyard a few minutes back. I was about to ask where we were going when suddenly the jailer came to a stop in front of a huge set of wooden doors.

"The Sheriff wants to see you."

* * *

_Oh man, I'm so scared of getting people out of character. Was my Allan alright? If he wasn't, just tell me how I can improve and I'll do so._ _Actually, if anyone wants to help with anything, I'd appreciate it very much. Just shoot me an email or add me to MSN._

_Anyway, yeah, cliffhanger. Sorry. I'm not entirely sure if Vicky's plan will work myself. I don't know, you guys can vote on it if you want. Blegh._

_If you left a signed review and I haven't replied, I'm sorry! I don't have a way of keeping track of who I replied to or not, and I have a terrible memory, so… I'm sorry._

_One last thing! I can't choose between Djaq and Roy. I love them both equally, so I thought since this story is for your guys' entertainment, why not let you choose? So, it's up to you. Who would you rather see, Djaq or Royston White?_

Lisen – Are you serious? Oh my gah, thank you! Seriously, that's like the best compliment ever. xD Here's more, and I'll get on writing chapter four right quick!

Syraka – Thanks so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As I've said earlier, I didn't much like it.

Charlotte Rowena – YAH, SUPAH HANDSHAKE! Lulz at fairies. Why do you want to say fairies? Do I remind you of pixie dust? Srsly, we gotta protect ourselves from the zombie horde! You know, I think I'm gonna put something like that in a chapter. xD Thanks lots for the inspiration. Actually, it'd be pretty rad if zombies attacked, minus everyone dying and stuff. Oh my gish, Thriller for the win. Fo sho. I love you and I enjoy your ginormous random reviews. xD


	4. Rollin' Like a Celebrity

**Chapter 4: Rollin' Like a Celebrity**  
("Beverly Hills" – Weezer)

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Robin Hood. Kinda wish I did, though. Of course, if I did, no one would get hurt simply because I'd feel bad for them.

**Author's Note:**_I'm sorry for the last chapter, I really am. For one thing, it was much too short. Secondly, it wasn't that great. Kind of 'meh' in my opinion. I'll try to make this one better, though. Compensating, for the win._

_I was originally going to wait until next week to stick this up, but I figured that, since I had already finished it, I'd better let you guys find out what happens after the cliffhanger._

_Oh, by the way, it seems Djaq has totally annihilated Roy in the voting. It's kind of good, because I reckon Vicky wouldn't be liked that much by Roy, as she wouldn't be able to understand a thing he said._

_Yeah, so, enjoy!_

* * *

The Sheriff didn't acknowledge our presence for the first few minutes we that we were in the room; he just sat in his oddly extravagant chair, scribbling something or other on a piece of paper. Allan and I had separated ourselves from each other right before we had entered the room, so I stood in the middle of the great hall and he lingered near the door. I knew he was trying not to draw attention to himself. If Vaysey recognized him, then I'd probably have to use some of my nonexistent kung fu skills on him; chances are I wouldn't even give him a bloody nose. Perhaps I could manage a split lip. 

"Ah, her highness," drawled Vaysey in a creepily friendly voice, snapping me out of my semi-violent thoughts. That voice started up in the back of my mind again. As I had done before, I politely told it to 'S-T-F-U, noob.' Another voice kicked up, telling me how pathetic I was, insulting the voice in my head. I made a mental note to tell my doctor that I was hearing numeral voices in my head.

"Victoria, please," I requested, making sure to keep an eye on him in case he recognized Allan.

"Victoria," he amended. I didn't care for being addressed by my full first name, but it sounded important and a whole lot more royal than Alicia, which was my sister's name. "_That's_ your manservant?" His gaze shifted to my Mr. A Dale. "He looks familiar…"

"I assure you, you've never seen him before." I interrupted harshly, causing him to return his eyes to me. He made that sound he does, sort of like 'hm' but not really. "May I, er, inquire as to why you requested my presence?" I'll admit, it felt awkward speaking like that, but this was 1192 and I had a role to fulfill.

"You aren't dressed like royalty," the Sheriff observed.

"I could hardly run around in a ceremonial dress, could I?"

"Yes, well. You know, it's not every day an heiress to the throne of a kingdom we've never heard of appears in our dungeons," speculated Vaysey. Ah, the flaw in my master plan. I wondered when someone was going to bring that up. I had just hoped it wouldn't be someone as important as the Sheriff. Of course, with my luck, that was exactly who had brought it up. You could almost hear the gears in my head as I tried to formulate a plan. I heard Allan shifting around behind me uncomfortably.

"You understand that I don't usually explain this myself." I mumbled.

"Naturally," the Sheriff responded.

"Your language can be quite dodgy sometimes." At least now I would have an excuse for all of my stammering. Always plan ahead says some guy on some movie or something. The look on Vaysey's face showed that he understood.

"Your king…" I faltered.

"King Richard." Allan supplied, whispering in my ear. I jumped in surprise; I hadn't heard him walk up behind me.

"Right, thank you. Your King Richard," I continued. "proposed an idea to my father, King… Dane of America. He proposed that we join forces in the Crusades – my country has so far been passive in your war. I was sent as a sort of ambassador, I guess you could say. I had been traveling along just fine until your men attacked us." Cue pompous nose-in-the-air sniff.

"King Richard proposed to ally with your country?" the Sheriff inquired, obviously interested. I nodded to confirm it. "That's odd, because King Richard has been in the Holy Land for the past five years." Oh. Hadn't thought of that.

"The king sent word to your dad from the Holy Land," Allan picked up, tickling my ear with his breath, "and you were sent to London to represent your country in raising funds and the like." I glanced up at Allan, surprised, before relaying the information to Vaysey, who seemed to accept it. Have I mentioned how much I loved the pathological lying son of his mother?

"And what will daddy dearest do if I decide to keep you here?" the Sheriff asked suddenly.

"Send assassins, naturally," I responded in a voice that implied that it was obvious. "It would be much more profitable for you to let me go."

"Profitable how?" I knew I would strike a soft spot, mentioning money.

"My father is a generous man," I lied, unsure of exactly where I was going with this. "He might just reward you for any hospitality towards me. Although my country is unknown, I assure you it is not in the least bit poor." The Sheriff was silent for a while, probably thinking it over. "Come on, we're just a little girl and her manservant," I pointed out. "It shouldn't be too hard for you to find us, should you ever want us again. I still have to regain most of my possessions from outlaws, so I will be traversing about Nottinghamshire for the time being. They will have no doubt claimed them, as they were left on the forest floor unprotected."

"Very well," the Sheriff said with a sigh. "Would you like a guard? Those outlaws can be a bit… nasty."

"Oh, no thank you," I declined as politely as I could. "My manservant provides sufficient protection. I must request that you bring us our effects, though. I would very much like to have my bag back, and I feel that much safer when my manservant has a sword back in his hand." I reached back and patted Allan affectionately; at first I didn't realize I was patting his stomach until I glanced back at him. Blushing – and ignoring the grin on Allan's face – I turned back to Vaysey.

"GUARDS!" he roared, causing me to nearly jump back into Allan. I thought he had decided to kill us anyway, and I turned, wide-eyed, to the door. It wasn't until he demanded that our items be brought to us that I let out the breath I hadn't been aware that I was holding.

"And a horse!" Allan called out after the guard in a perfect imitation of my accent.

"What?" Vaysey snapped, looked toward us. The guard hesitated in the doorway.

"We would like a horse as well. It's only courteous, as, indirectly, you're responsible for all of our possessions being stolen," I cut in before Allan could answer Vaysey himself.

"Bring them a horse, too," the Sheriff commanded, not without a glare in our direction. "I trust you know where the courtyard is," he added, somewhat coldly. I was about to tell him that no, we didn't know where it was, before Allan half-dragged me out of the room.

Both of the guards stationed at the door had run off, presumably to fulfill Vaysey's orders. We had closed the door behind us, so we were completely alone in the hallway.

"Allan, I love you," I announced. It was totally platonic love, of course; I often told everyone I loved them when I was grateful, and he had totally just saved me back in there. Although I was sure he wasn't aware of how affectionate I was, he didn't seem appalled by my sudden proclamation.

"Not bein' funny, but now isn't exactly the time for confessions." said Allan, ushering me down the hall.

"You know where we're going, then?" I asked, looking over my shoulder at him. He nodded and glanced down a hallway as we passed it. He nodded; that was a relief, since I had no idea where we were supposed to pick up the horse. I still hadn't gotten my bag, either, and if I was supposed to be running around Nottinghamshire, it was something that I'd rather have with me.

"Allan, wait." I stopped and turned around to face the outlaw. He was taller than I was but I paid it no mind. "I, um, have to-"

"Oh, your highness!" Someone slammed into me from behind, sending me crashing into Allan. Thankfully he didn't fall; it would've caused a very awkward scene. "Sorry!" the guard gasped. I took a moment to regain my composure and straighten a few creases in my shirt.

"What is it?" I snapped, half-glaring at the man who had run into me. He held out my bag and Allan's sword.

"Your 'effects', milady." Allan and I grabbed our respected items, fastened them to ourselves, and waited, for the guard looked like he had some other information to relay.

"Come, your horse is waiting the courtyard." the man said. With a flustered bow, he pivoted around and led us down a different hallway than the one in which I had previously been ushered along. A few twists and turns later, and we were out in the courtyard. A beautiful chestnut stallion was being tended to by a stable boy near the steps, obviously waiting for us. Allan let out a low whistle and stepped forward to stroke its muzzle. I stared at the beast in something similar to horror.

"Mistress, aren't you coming?" Allan inquired in that flawless mimic of my accent. A bit of his original British accent was leaking through, but I doubted anyone could tell except for me.

"No, thanks," I breathed, not looking away from the horse. "I'm fine with staying here. You go on with out me." I flashed a weak smile and then reverted to my expression of terror. Allan raised an eyebrow and returned to my side.

"What's the matter, don't you like the horse?" he whispered, glancing back to the animal. "Must cost a pretty coin."

"No, I don't like the horse," I hissed back, turning away from said creature. "It's terrifying. You can ride it, and I'll walk behind you, about a few yards away. Go on, I'll give you a head start." Allan laughed at me then. It was a loud, genuine laugh, and I didn't like being the cause of it.

"You're scared of a horse!" he exclaimed quietly (which is a feat in and of itself).

"Yes," I snapped with a scowl, "I have an extensive list of things I fear, and equines are on it." The laughing died away, but the amused smile remained firmly in place.

"Look, it's not that bad," Allan assured, gently pulling me towards the animal. Once we got within a few feet of it, I began to resist. The guard and stable boy had left a while ago, which saved us from explaining my odd predicament. "It's not like it's going to eat you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know they're herbivores and all, but a kick from one of those things could put you down for good." I stated matter-of-factly.

"Which is why you don't stand behind them," Allan countered. Well, he got me there. With a small smile, he climbed up into the saddle and held down a hand to me. "See, you can sit behind me. You'll just have to worry about holding on. I'll steer him." He patted the horse's neck affectionately.

I decided that, since I didn't want to insult Vaysey by refusing his gift, I had to at least give it a shot. Staring the beast straight in the eye, I took a few hesitant steps forward. I swear I saw the stupid thing grin right before it jerked its head in my direction and snorted loudly. With an undignified shriek, I stumbled back, tripped over my own feet, and toppled to the ground. Allan let out a shout of laugher as I climbed to my feet.

"It did that on purpose!" I exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the animal. Allan just laughed and urged the horse towards me. I darted to the side to avoid coming face-to-face with the thing.

"It's not going to bite," he grinned, holding his hand out to me once more. I glared at the horse as I took Allan's hand. He swung me onto the back of the horse. I, thoroughly convinced that I was going to die, instantly grabbed a hold of Allan's torso as he steered the horse through the gate and into Nottingham.

"Not being funny, but," he began after a few minutes of riding, "you're crushing my ribs." I grunted an apology and loosed my grip slightly.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he directed the horse out of the city. My voice was muffled slight on account of my face being pressed against his back. I knew I looked ridiculous, but I didn't want to fall off of the horse.

"To the camp. We- Oi, it's Will!" I could feel him turning around to look behind him but I didn't dare try it myself.

"Did he see us?" I asked, looking up into Allan's hair.

"Yeah, he pointed us out to someone. I think it was Much." came his reply. He seemed to completely ignore the fact that I knew who Will was despite having never heard his name.

"Okay, good, so they aren't going to break into the prison." I had already gotten Allan out, and I didn't think my influence as Princess of America would be enough to get anyone else out of jail, especially not if the Sheriff knew it was an outlaw.

"You know an awful lot for-"

"-for someone from a county no one knows about, yeah, I know."

* * *

_Cue fears of getting people out of character. I'm sorry if I did! I think I got Allan close enough, but I not too sure about the Sheriff… Sorry, sorry, sorry. Once again, suggestions and (constructive!) criticism are welcome!_

Charlotte Rowena – Is this fast enough? I had like SUPAH MUSE, so I actually completed this roughly within twenty-four hours of the last chapter. xD Thanks so much, though, for telling me I kept Allan in character. I was major scared about that. Haha, I'm not sure exactly how I managed to remind you of pixie dust, but, er, woot? I'm sorry, making you choose between Djaq and Roy! I just couldn't choose myself, and I thought 'Hm, why not ask the fans…' but yeah, you're right. For some reason, I think Roy might protest a woman staying with them. I dunno, he seems like the 'rawr man power!' type. … do I get to keep the zombies' mini Robin Hood dolls? All I want are the Much and Allan ones! Maybe Robin, too, for the little Saracen bow.


	5. If I Could Find You Now

**Chapter 5: If I Could Find You Now  
**("Ocean Avenue" – Yellowcard)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Beeb's Robin Hood; I do not own it… though I wish I could? Bah, Dr. Seuss really is a genius.

**Author's Note: **_Here we are, chapter five! Oh my gosh, I can't believe you guys have actually stuck around this long (yes, even you guys who read and don't leave reviews). Really, it makes me so happy knowing that people actually enjoy the junk that forms in my head. … I'm not going to cry, if that's what you want._

_Ah, the much anticipated reunion between Much and Vicky is nigh! Extremely friggin' nigh, for those of you who have seen __28 Days Later._

_Enjoy this chapter, plzkthx._

* * *

I didn't know that the horse had stopped moving until Allan began trying to pry myself off of him. Once I had realized that we were stationary, I instantly let go and allowed him to slide off the horse first. I was about to swing my leg over to get off the darn beast as well when it suddenly reared up, dumping me unceremoniously onto the forest floor. 

"Dude, see!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. "That horse is out to get me! Stupid thing, I'm naming you Damien!" A handful of leaves and dirt was hurled at the horse, courtesy of yours truly. Damien snorted defiantly and stamped the earth with a hoof. I glared in response.

"You're not eccentric," Allan cut in, interrupting the argument between animal and human. "You're flat out crazy."

"Am not!" I protested.

"Not being funny, but you're arguing with a horse." He pointed out.

"The Devil's horse!" Allan just chucked and shook his head. "Lucky me," I grumbled, taking a few steps toward Damien; now that I knew he actually _was_ a threat to my physical health, it was surprisingly easy to overcome my fear. "Of all the horses owned by the Sheriff, I get stuck with one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse's steeds. Eh, Damien, gonna bring about the end of the world, are you?" I grabbed his reins and tugged, intending to lead him over to Allan so we could get going wherever we were headed, but he wouldn't budge.

"Look, horse," I snapped, losing my patience quickly. "You are _going_ to obey me, even if I have to… do something drastic." My face was a few inches away from Damien's, but when he snorted I didn't even jump. Then with a jerk of his head, he clamped his jaws down on my knuckle. He just nipped the skin, but still. It _hurt_.

"Friggin' A!" I yelled with a start. I took a few moments to massage the skin on my knuckle before turning my fury onto my horse. "_No_!" I scolded, smacking Damien on the nose. The horse let out a surprised sound that I can't really describe and jolted his head back. I hadn't hit him that hard – I was against animal cruelty, after all – but I knew he had felt it.

"Are you through quarreling with the horse?" Allan called from behind me.

"No, I am _not_ through quarreling with the horse!" I yelled back. "He bit me! You know, I bet this was all set up. Vaysey probably gave me this horse because he knew it'd try to kill me." Scoffing, I grabbed the end of Damien's reins, intending to put as much distance between us as possible; I honestly didn't want to be killed by a horse. Well, I didn't want to be killed at all, but that's beside the point. After an experimental pull I discovered that Damien was finally willing to follow, and led him to Allan.

"Why'd you name him Damien?" he asked as we began walking; I had no idea where we were headed, but he seemed to know, which was good enough for me.

"There's this… play," I began, not knowing exactly how to explain. Did they have plays in 1192? They had to, because they had them in Rome during the time of, like, Hercules and stuff. "called 'The Omen'. I've never seen the whole thing, but it's about this kid, and I guess he's the Devil's son or something, and he has the numbers six six six on the back of his head, under his hair. He's like a demon or something. Anyway, the kid's name is Damien. Fitting name for an evil horse, yeah?" I patted my Damien's muzzle in mock affection. The horse nudged my shoulder.

"You don't really think the horse is evil, do you?" Allan asked, leaning forward to look at me; Damien's head occupied the space between us, blocking our view of each other.

"Not really," I admitted, shrugging. "He's just a mean old bugger."

The three of us walked on in silence. I had no way of knowing what Allan and Damien were thinking, but I was wondering where we were going. From how his character was portrayed in the show, Allan didn't seem like the type to lure people into the forest and kill them, but I doubted he was taking me back to the outlaw camp. I was sure I had to pass some sort of initiation exam before I received tags, and even then, it wasn't like I saved one of the outlaw's lives. Perhaps they'd let me stay if I offered to cook. Maybe I inherited some mad culinary talent from my dad, and I needed a challenge to bring it out. That's how it works on X-men, right?

A soft rustling in the bushes nearby distracted me from my thoughts. Allan threw his arm out to stop me, but I had already frozen in place. Taking a step in the direction that the sound came from, he pulled his sword out of the scabbard and dropped into what I assumed was a defensive stance. For the first time since the dream began, I felt vulnerable; here I was, in pre-medieval England, armed with what, a horse with violent tendencies?

Another faint rustle; the sound seemed magnified in the silence. I shrank back between Allan and Damien, ready to attempt to jump on the latter and run away if I needed to. Of course, I'd wait for Allan to get on if it came to that. Not only was he the only one with a weapon, but I'd feel horrible if I left him behind.

A shrill whistle sounded from in front of us. It must've been a signal of some sort, because Allan put his sword away. I gradually loosened up my limbs but my gaze never moved away from the foliage in front of us.

"Allan!" came a voice. Will's voice, I believe it was. Sure enough, not a minute later, he walked into the clearing, followed by…

"You!" Much and I shouted simultaneously, pointing at each other.

"You know her?" Will asked curiously, looking between us both.

"He made me bleed," I said, ducking behind Damien.

"Oh, I forgot about that." Allan added thoughtfully, glancing at me.

"She's the weird girl who knew your name?" Will asked Much, looking at him. Much nodded in response.

"'Weird'?" I gasped, acting offended. "I wouldn't say weird. I'd say… eccentric and looks good in jeans." I wasn't acting fully sarcastic; I still needed to ask Robin if I could stay with him, at least for a little while, and it wouldn't be in my favor to have Much and Will against me. Allan seemed to tolerate my presence, which was a good thing.

"I must say, you're _very_ eccentric," Much commented, peering at me over Damien's back.

"… thank you?" I shot him a look of mild confusion, unsure whether I had just been complimented or insulted.

"You're welcome?" Much replied, mirroring my expression. I broke into a small grin at Much's face. He looked so cute when he was confused. Not attractive cute, mind you; he was, what, twenty-eight? I meant like how people talk about babies. That kind of cute (personally, I didn't find babies cute at all. It was just an expression).

I looked over at Allan and Will to see why they were being so quiet; apparently they were talking in hushed voices. About what, I had no idea.

"You can pet him," I offered, turning back to Much and patting Damien. "as long as you promise not to give me another bloody nose."

"It was an accident!" Much sighed dramatically.

"But it hurt. And it was my second nosebleed ever! Technically, I guess you could say it was my first, since the first one I actually had was self-inflicted." I shrugged.

"You gave _yourself_ a nosebleed?" Much inquired, incredulous.

"Not on purpose. I was jumping on this… we call it a trampoline; it bounces you really high when you jump on it. But yeah, I was jumping and when I landed, my knee buckled, so I fell back and hit myself in the face with my knee." I mimed hitting my nose with the palm of my hand and smiled pleasantly. "I feel like cooking something."

"Do you always have random outbursts like that?" Much sighed. And then, "You cook?"

"A little bit," I admitted. "I'm not good enough to be the head chef for a royal feast or anything, but the stuff I make is edible. Mostly." Okay, so the worst thing I had ever done in the culinary department was melt a cookie, but there should have been a warning on the microwave. Honestly, on bottles for sleeping pills they say 'Warning: May cause drowsiness'. On microwaves, it should be 'Warning: Heating cookies for fifteen seconds may cause jello'.

"Do you think you could stay for dinner?" Much asked, somewhat excited. I shrugged.

"As long as you don't kill me if I give you food poisoning…" I mumbled under my breath. Much frowned at me over Damien's back.

"What?"

"I said, 'As long as everyone is okay with it.'"

"I'm alright with it," Allan voiced, choosing that moment to join the conversation. Much and I looked towards Will, who shrugged and murmured "It's fine with me." Much grinned and I mimicked his expression, though mine was a bit more subdued.

"What'd you talk to Will about?" I whispered to Allan as Much grabbed Damien's reins ("Careful, he's the horse of Satan!") and began leading us deeper into the forest, presumably to wherever the outlaws had camped.

"You," Allan answered without hesitation. I raised an eyebrow. "Not bein' funny, but you are kind of… mysterious." I 'ahh'ed like I knew what he was talking about, which I didn't. He seemed to pick up on that. "You show up in Sherwood, dressed in strange clothes and claim to be from an unknown country."

"I know what you're talking about," I interrupted before he could say anything else and shrugged as if it were nothing. "I'm not a spy for the Sheriff, though, if my word means anything to you. Finlay, the guard, actually threatened me because I asked him what he'd do if I were a spy. It was… scary."

That seemed to satisfy Allan for the time being, and I then jogged ahead to walk next to Much, who began telling me the quickest way to skin and cook a rabbit.

* * *

_I'm sorry, that was a horrible chapter. I've been running out of ideas for this lately; I blame high school. So, since I'm sort of running out of ideas, I'm not exactly sure how soon the next chapter will be up. One thing I can promise you, though, is plenty of _Survivorman_ and _Man vs. Wild_ references._

Unknown – Thanks so much for the tip. I'll try to slow it down.

Charlotte Rowena – Gosh, I can only imagine how creepy that smirk would be to wake up to. In fact, I believe I shall take the Guy one, just so I can experience it for myself. Just hope I don't die of a heart attack.

Hyio – Oh my _gosh_, if I had been drinking something when I read that, I'm sure it would've come out my nose. Thanks to you, I also spent five minutes imagining a Robin Hood version of "Thriller". In fact, if anyone besides Hyio reads this, I recommend doing it. It's awfully entertaining.

I know it's my interpretations, but I'd feel terrible if I made Little John have a grammatically correct monologue, or if Will suddenly proclaimed that he hated carpentry and would much rather be a midwife or something.

And it's quite alright; I make plenty of spelling mistakes, too. You can just call me Vicky if you'd like.


	6. Note

Dear readers,

First off, I would like to apologize for taking _forever_ to update this story. I have multiple excuses as to why I haven't been writing, but I'm sure you don't want to hear any of them.

Let me start with a bit of good news: I absolutely hate the way the story is right now. I can hear your cries of "How can this be good news!" Well, since I hate this story, that means I'll be writing a new one! Don't worry; it will be with the same plot. Don't think I'm leaving anyone out, either; you will see Finley the guard, Damien the devil horse, and Lester the thief again (just because Lester was only in the first chapter so far doesn't mean that I don't have plans for him). The wonderful Charlotte Rowena has agreed to be my beta, so that should help with some of my grammatical errors.

Unfortunately, that means that this fic _will_ be deleted. Not to fear, though. The new and improved story will be up a few days prior to this one's deletion; I'm not going to delete it until I get the first chapter done. The first five chapters of the new fic might be extremely similar, so please bear with me.

If you have any comments or questions, feel free to add my myspace or email me. Both can be found in my profile. Thanks so much for being a fan of this story!

zomgvicky


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